


life is a tale (told by an idiot)

by caramelle



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Roommates, teasing and snark galore cos that's how i do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 04:47:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6785845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramelle/pseuds/caramelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke grins from the curve of Bellamy’s arm, careless and wide. "<i>Raaaa-ven</i>," she sings whimsically, reaching out with her free hand. “It’s your <i>biiiirth</i>-day!"</p><p><i>"False face must hide what the false heart doth know,"</i> Miller mourns sorrowfully beside her, pulling his beanie down over his eyes and promptly letting his head drop down onto the table. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <b>Three times someone caught Bellamy and Clarke cuddling + One time someone caught them doing something else</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	life is a tale (told by an idiot)

**Author's Note:**

> here is yet another oneshot that has absolutely nothing to do with any of the WIPs i've been working on over the last two weeks! =D
> 
>  
> 
> (title from Shakespeare's _Macbeth_ )

 

 

 

 

 

 

**1.**

 

“One more for the road!”

 

The rest snicker helplessly as Raven throws back another shot — her sixth or seventh of the night, not counting the beers and other drinks she’s already consumed over the last two hours. Raven Reyes does nothing by halves, _especially_ not birthday binge-drinking.

 

“You said that three drinks ago,” Clarke points out, swaying towards her tipsily. Most of them are at the stage where literally anything and everything is either gut-achingly funny or sob-worthy sad. So far, no one’s broken out into blubbers yet. Apart from Miller, that is. No one can quite remember what he’d been tearing up about — Bellamy managed to make out some of the other man’s inaudible slurring about _Twelfth Night_ , but it had passed pretty quickly.

 

“So maybe I’m takin’ three roads home, ain’t it,” Raven retorts, flashing a clearly inebriated grin.

 

 _“_ _When I see three objectives, three captains, three ships,”_ Jasper announces suddenly, gesturing blearily with one hand, _“I do not see coincidence, I see providence.”_

 

“Okay,” Harper garbles at him, waving a finger in a sloppy figure-eight. “We’re cutting you off, Morpheus.”

 

 _“I believe this night holds for each and every one of us, the very meaning of our lives,”_ Jasper insists at her, blinking hard with red-rimmed eyes. He claps a hand onto Monty’s shoulder with a flourish, his passed-out best friend not responding from his slumped position over the table.

 

Clarke turns to her right, grinning happily at Bellamy’s face just inches from hers, warm and flushed from the alcohol. “I’m starting to think your sister had the right idea.”

 

Bellamy smiles lopsidedly, shaking his head. “If she didn’t have to get up so early, she’d be on top of a table right now.” His nose scrunches in a confused frown, as if he’s suddenly heard his words repeated back to him. “Probably not _our_ table, too.”

 

She sniggers hard, the force of her giddy amusement making her tip into his side, her shoulder fitting under his outstretched arm as it rests along the back of their booth. “Tryn’na start a bar fight with— with—“ She squints around for a second, her unfocused eyes landing on two very heavily muscled and generously tattooed gentlemen seated nearby. “With _them_ ,” she finishes, lifting her left hand to point unsteadily but firmly in their direction.

 

Bellamy snorts at her unabashed shamelessness, shushing her loudly and taking his hand off the seat to clamp over hers, curling both their arms back into her chest as they shake with uncontrollable laughter. They’re immediately swept up in another fit of giggles, Clarke turning to hide her face in Bellamy’s neck as his arm tightens around her, his large fingers warm and rough around hers.

 

Raven hiccups, throwing a half-soaked napkin at them. “Hey, lovebirds,” she slurs cheerfully. “No cuddling on my birthday, ’nless it’s wit' me.”

 

Clarke grins back from the curve of Bellamy’s arm, careless and wide. “ _Raaaa-ven_ ,” she sings whimsically, reaching out over the table with her free hand. “It’s your _biiiirth-_ day!”

 

 _“False face must hide what the false heart doth know,”_ Miller mourns sorrowfully beside her, pulling his beanie down over his eyes and promptly letting his head drop down onto the table.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

  

**2.**

 

“I hate freshmen,” Bellamy informs her, right before collapsing onto the couch, dropping his head over the back of the couch and immediately smothering himself with the first cushion his hand manages to snag.

 

She doesn’t look up from the sketchpad in her lap, propped in front of her with her feet on the couch. “I have blonde hair.”

 

She looks up when a few long seconds have passed, raising a brow at the baffled expression on his de-cushioned face. “Oh, sorry. Are we not playing the world’s dumbest game of State the Obvious?”

 

“Har, har,” he tells her, unable to even summon up the strength for a decent roll of the eyes. “Seriously. Is this _normal_? I don’t remember being this much of a jackass when _I_ was in college.”

 

“You wouldn’t,” she says dryly, pencil already moving across the paper. “You love yourself too much to remember anything bad about you.”

 

“This coming from _you_ ,” he retorts, yanking at the knot of his tie. “Coming from Clarke ‘I’m Being _Polite_ You Asshole’ Griffin.”

 

“I was simply responding to the poor first impression you made on me,” she says with a sniff. She glances over to see him still staring dejectedly at his smother cushion, now safely in his lap and out of his face. She rolls her eyes, shifting her sketchpad to her left thigh and letting her right arm drop to her side. “Alright,” she sighs. “You might as well tell me all about it now.”

 

Before she can blink, the smother cushion is on her right thigh, Bellamy’s head resting comfortably atop it. “Okay, so there’s this one kid, and I legitimately thought English might be his, like, third language or something? But _no_ , he’s just a cocky little piece of…”

 

And that’s how Octavia finds them thirty minutes later — Bellamy’s head in Clarke’s lap, her left hand shading shadows into her sketchpad while her right hand traces aimless patterns over the front of Bellamy’s button-down shirt.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Octavia comments, folding her arms as she watches Bellamy spring up and out of Clarke’s lap, bringing up a hand to rake self-consciously through his dark curls. “If this is what happens when I leave you guys home alone for two seconds, maybe I should just move out.”

 

“Ha, ha,” Clarke says flatly, setting aside the sketchpad and pushing herself off the couch. “I’m gonna go reheat the takeout. Dinner’s in ten minutes, children.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**3.**

 

Harper nudges Miller with an elbow, but he seems not to notice, staring avidly at Keanu Reeves getting beaten up by a hundred Hugo Weavings onscreen. Gritting her teeth, she repeats the motion even harder, making his arms buckle from the force of her near-violent nudge.

 

“Okay, um — _ow_?” he hisses at her, rubbing woundedly at his arm.

 

She rolls her eyes, not buying his drama queen theatrics. “Look,” she whispers, nodding towards the couch behind them.

 

They both turn their heads to see Bellamy and Clarke fast asleep, his arm stretched over the back of the couch as it always does, her head tipped sideways to tuck into the crook between his neck and shoulder. His cheek is pressed into her hair, loose blonde waves falling over her closed eyes.

 

They turn back to each other _. “Oh my God,”_ they mouth at the same time, immediately nodding back furiously in silent _I know’s_.

 

“What are you doing?” Harper whispers sharply when Miller shifts suddenly.

 

He finally manages to pulls his phone out from his pocket — a task made several times harder when one opts to sit on the floor — and holds it up, grinning. “I gotta get a pic, dude.”

 

She shakes her head and makes a grab for the phone. “You’re gonna wake them up, idiot.”

 

“No I won’t,” he insists half-hushedly, holding the device out of her reach with one hand and fending off her clutching fingers with the other. “I’m fucking _discreet_.”

 

“You’re fucking _not_ ,” she scoffs, pushing at his hand.

 

“You’re both fucking _loud_ is what you are,” Octavia intones suddenly from the armchair, where she’s cradled comfortably in Lincoln’s lap. “Shut it, will you? Neo’s about to do his Superman thing.”

 

They immediately turn to offer innocuous smiles at Octavia. “Sorry,” Harper whispers, as Miller salutes jauntily.

 

Silence resumes, the dramatic fight music swelling from the TV. They wait about ten seconds before sneaking another glance behind them.

 

Clarke and Bellamy are both awake and upright, stifling yawns and blinking sleepily on the couch with a good eight inches of space between them.

 

“ _Dammit_ ,” Miller grumbles under his breath, as Harper sighs resignedly.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**+1.**

 

“ _There_ you are!” Raven exclaims when Octavia strides into the bar, the heels of her boots clicking pointedly on the floor as she marches up to their table. “We were just gonna go ahead and—“ She breaks off, frowning at the pinched, slightly paled expression Octavia’s wearing as she slides into the booth. “Okay, we didn’t _actually_ order without y’all.”

 

“Hey, where’re your roommates?” Monty says, brows knitting together. “I thought all three of you were coming together.”

 

“Oh, they’re coming, alright,” Octavia answers, lips pressed into a thin line. “They were _definitely_ coming. Both of them. Together.”

 

The entire table goes silent, five bewildered gazes trained on her.

 

“Um,” Raven begins, and stops. She clears her throat, exchanging a glance with Harper. “Do you mean that, like—”

 

“Yes I did just walk in on my brother and Clarke having sex,” Octavia informs them stonefacedly. “ _Naked_ ,” she adds, glaring at Jasper, who hadn’t quite managed to stifle his guffaw.

 

Monty clears his throat too, shifting in his seat. “Well,” he starts carefully, not meeting anyone’s gaze. “It’s really only polite to knock before entering someone’s room.”

 

Octavia’s withering gaze finds him instantly. “It was on the couch.”

 

“In your _living room_?” Miller asks, wide-eyed. Harper automatically reaches out to punch him in the arm, shaking her head warningly.

 

Octavia’s jaw clenches, her shoulders vibrating with fury. “I can’t _believe_ ,” she says slowly, hands curled into tight fists on the table top, “that I just—“ she pauses, blinking twice before suddenly throwing her hands up into the air, making a sound of frustration.

 

The entire table gapes at her as she digs into her purse and withdraws two twenties, irritably tossing them across the booth at a triumphantly beaming Raven.

 

“Don’t worry,” Raven says, sweeping up the crumpled notes with a victorious flourish. “You can cough up the rest of it some other time.”

 

 

 

  

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> as always, thank you so much for reading this all the way to the end even though it's literally just 1.6k of fluff that really didn't even have that much bellarke interaction?! IDK I JUST GOT REALLY STUCK ON THEM BEING CAUGHT CUDDLING. 
> 
> thank you if you leave a kudos! SUPERTHANKS™ if you leave a comment because i defo wanna hear what you think =)
> 
> come scream with me on [tumblr](http://caramellakers.tumblr.com)! *winks* *shoots finger guns bcos i'm über coolz*


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